Never Too Late
by broken-hearted wings
Summary: Hardison learns that it's never too late to make a heartfelt apology. K-plus for mild cussing and gore.


~!~ So! I decided to take a shot at a Leverage fic and this was what happened: a little one-shot about Hardison's eloquent apology for being overly talkative and less helpful in a fight. I hope it's not too rushed; I like it, but am a little worried about its pace. Please tell me what you think! Cookies for everyone who reviews! ~!~

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When lying on the floor with a gun pointed to his head and people screaming threats at each other, including four mad gunmen and a very mad Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison had decided that he would join a nunnery if someone could just get him out of this mess. He didn't know how the mooks were facing off with Eliot and not breaking and running, because frankly, the long-haired man was terrifying. His hair was flying everywhere, his eyes were practically tinged with red, and he had that look on his face that Alec generally read as the someone-is-going-to-die-now look. Not one you wanted directed at yourself.

But then again, in this situation, Hardison was glad that someone was getting ready to take some action because he was really in no place to do so. This whole thing had been his fault too and there was that pang of guilt that felt as bad as getting hit by shards of glass that had been shattered by the bullet that had all but dug a furrow in his scalp. The hacker was sincerely sorry for discussing their latest meal with Eliot, complaining loudly of an upset stomach, and demanding to know kind of sauce he'd used.

The man had endured the nagging with surprising patience, probably because of they were infiltrating a bank together, that might have goons in it somewhere then keeping his partner and back-up alive was smart. But, Alec's whining had masked the approach of several robbers, who had spotted the invading team and promptly attacked them, shooting furiously. He remembered a hail of bullets and being jerked to the ground, hearing Eliot's infuriated,

"Dammit, Hardison!" He'd crawled frantically for about three seconds before a foot landed in his back and a hand had fisted in his shirt, dragging him up. Steeling himself, the man had gotten up the nerve to turn around the punch the man with a gun in the face. Jerking out of the stunned guy's grip, he took a second to gloat at the blood dripping down the goon's face before he was tackled and thrown to the ground.

He remembered screaming like a little girl and then hearing another gunshot, and the person on top of him grunting, which caused him to look up and realize that it was Eliot who'd tackled him and now had at least one hole in him because Alec had been unable to keep his eye out. If that wasn't a one-way ticket to a guilt trip, he didn't know what was. They'd left Hardison on the ground, wisely keeping a gun on both him and Eliot, who kept a hand to his bleeding shoulder the entire time, muttering words Hardison wouldn't have ever gotten away with as a child.

They'd kept their guns trained on the two, demanding,

"Who are you? What are you after? Did you know we would be here?!" And questions of the like. Hardison had kept his mouth shut, deciding that saying anything and making them angrier wasn't going to help. Eliot had kept his mouth shut too, though he looked as pissed off as Hardison had ever seen him. Nate was going crazy, or as crazy as the cool-headed man could get, over their ear pieces.

"_Dammit, guys, what's going on?! Are you two all right?_" Hardison quickly coughed a "no" subtly, or he'd thought it had been subtly, but apparently not, because two of the men turned immediately on him, making him jerk.

"What'd you say?" One of them demanded. Hardison gulped and managed a feeble,

"Nothing." Before he got kicked in the stomach. "Hey, what's the problem, man?!" He demanded, sounding a lot weaker than he'd meant to as he doubled over, and tried not to groan too loudly. Somewhere in the background, he heard Eliot make an exasperated noise. It was insulting enough for him to pull himself together and get on his knees, snapping,

"I don't what you're talking about, bro. Me and my man here," He ignored Eliot's irritated noise, noticing the way the man was casting his angry glances, and hurriedly continued, "Are here to check on someone's account. We got let in, if you feel the need to go and interrogate the guys up front." The man in the mask snarled,

"D'you think we're that stupid?" _Well, yes._ Alec thought, but didn't say. The goon shifted for a second before turning and snapping at another masked man, saying,

"Billy, go and see if they're telling the truth. Take off your mask and make yourself look presentable." The guy nodded and ran off. Hardison could hear Nate demanding all sorts of things and managed to tune him out, looking desperately at Eliot. _Take charge already!_ He wanted to tell the hitman. Eliot got the message though and gave him an exasperated look, lifting a bloody hand while the gook's back was turned and pointing first at the gun of the man with his back turned and then at Hardison.

_Well, crap. He wants me to steal the guy's gun._ Hardison could've groaned out loud, but, seeing the look on Eliot's face, decided it was their only chance. _The hell with this!_ He lunged forward, tackling the man, nearly knocking him to the floor, and grabbed his gun. He struggled to his feet, wrestling for the gun and accidentally stepped on the man's arm, snapping the bone the moment he put all of his weight on the foot to push up.

The man screamed and let go, sending Hardison tumbling and struggling for balance. He righted himself and pointed the gun at the single man standing, which had yet to get hit with the snarling rage that was Eliot, who had put the other two men down.

"Listen, man, I'm not in the mood!" He'd snapped, standing off with the goon, who kept his gun trained on Hardison. The man was rather proud of how well he kept his shaking under control. "I just want to go home, all right? So can we put our guns down and just walk away?" As he talked, Eliot snuck around behind the man and promptly clocked him one, sending him down with a rather satisfying crunch. The hitter promptly followed him, collapsing on his feet, and scaring the crap out of Alec, who scrambled forward, yelling into his earpiece,

"Man down, man down! Eliot's shot, Nate!"

"With all the shooting going on, I'm surprised you aren't either, Hardison!" Nate said. Alec could hear the revving of a car in his ear as he crouched next to Eliot and pulled him onto his back.

"Hey, hey, man, don't do this to me! Eliot, no going toward the light!" Eliot groaned.

"You sound like a Hallmark movie, Hardison. Shut up already; I'm not dead!" Alec breathed out in a rush, exclaiming,

"You had me going for a second there, man! Don't do that!" Eliot made a half-hearted attempt to swing at him and managed to connect, which made Hardison swat at him, irritated. "Could you at least cooperate when you're injured? Invalids don't hurt people when they're injured!"

"I'm not an invalid!" Eliot snarled, swinging at him again and missing. Hardison smirked.

"Tell that to the ambulance. Nate's calling them right now." Eliot groaned again.

"Hardison, just grab one of their shirts, wad it up, and hold it on the hole, would 'ya? I like my blood in my body, not all over the floor." Grateful to have something to do that would keep the hitter from seeing how close to hysterical he was, Hardison quickly got to his feet and went to one of the men, making a face as he yanked the man's shirt off him and also took a moment to whip his eyes. That had been way too close for comfort.

He'd be one gunshot away from dead. Hell, Eliot had been two gunshots away from dead; he'd taken one and kept right on going. Hardison swallowed thickly. After this was over, he was going home, taking a couple Aspirin, and watching Doctor Who torrents for several hours, with some nice, comfy pillows and ice cream to go along.

Trotting back to Eliot, he knelt and pressed the cloth on the bullet wound. The hitter's breath hissed through his teeth, but he kept quiet, not that Alec hadn't expected that from him. Eliot Spencer wasn't weak; he was a fighter. And if Hardison had been more aware, more on task, then they'd be walking away from this whole scene right now. He bit his lip and murmured,

"Hey, Eliot, listen. I'm sorry for-"

"Hardison, really? We have to go through this?" Eliot's tone was annoyed. "This could've happened to anyone, so calm down and-"

"Hey." Alec cut him off firmly. The hitter raised his eyebrows. Alec continued anyway. "Just accept the apology, all right? They don't come cheap and I meant it. And, plus, it's never too late to apologize. Thought I might as well get it in now, while you're only shot in the shoulder." His voice was completely serious. Eliot hmphed.

"Only shot in the shoulder, he says." Seeing Hardison's look, he sighed. "Fine. Okay. Accepted. Tell Nate to hurry up." Hardison nodded, even though they both knew Nate had heard them. It was hard to know that Eliot was hurt because of him. But it hurt a little bit less to know that he didn't hate him for it.


End file.
